


These Little Rituals

by gentlesquid_andink



Category: The Brave (TV 2017)
Genre: Adam Dalton needs some mothering, Gen, Hannamir endgame, Jalton (background), Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 10:49:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16173557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gentlesquid_andink/pseuds/gentlesquid_andink
Summary: One way Dalton might have managed to get Amir transferred to their Omega team...





	These Little Rituals

“Well I’m not convinced.” He knew that tone from the Deputy Director all too well, though she rarely used it with him these days.

Dalton had made his case; he wanted this CIA operative filling the opening on his Omega team. He could be their intelligence officer, supplement their existing knowledge on several key players in the region. What he didn’t know, Dalton had no doubt he could obtain more quickly than anyone else on Omega Team Seven. Amir al-Raisani might not be used to working on a team, hell he might not even want this kind of job. But Dalton recognized the sort of raw hunger you couldn’t train into a soldier. He just hadn’t been able to show it to the Deputy Director in a way that hooked into her unparalleled instincts yet.

When Patricia Campbell said she wasn’t convinced, Dalton knew it was an invitation, rather than a dismissal. He’d get there.

()()()()()

Even after Michael had been killed, Patricia insisted Dalton come over for dinner when he was stateside. After the debriefing was done and leave started to feel more like the well-earned vacation it was supposed to mimic; before the doldrums sent him back to the Blue Ridge Mountains. It was the sort of ritual he usually did without in his life, but there was a bittersweet taste in the back of his throat this time around.

The text came from Patricia’s personal cell. “A week from tomorrow for dinner, I think?” Not official communication, but encrypted nonetheless. Michael always used to manage the logistics. Knew how to keep Adam’s ebb and flow in check, win him over to the parts of life where the sun shined just a little bit brighter.

“That works. I’ll bring the usual.” Pie - and bourbon; he’d pick up Michael’s usual contribution, too. Continuing felt somehow important to this notion of the family you choose. If he was going to keep putting that in front of Jaz, he supposed he’d better show up himself. Lord knew these women would gang up on him if he didn’t.

()()()()()

“Charlie, it’s Dalton. You know that favor you think you owe me? You’ve got an operative we’re thinking about bringing over. Any chance you could find cover to get him to DC?”

()()()()()

Dalton handed Amir the blueberry pie from the backseat. “What’s this?”

“Good manners. If she asks who brought it, lie.”

They made their way to the front door. Amir mused about Americans and their version of polite society. He liked Dalton, respected the way he could wrap honesty up in acknowledgement of the rules without making it feel like a tactical necessity. There was only what he wanted and what he knew. That made Amir’s growing suspicion that Deputy Director Campbell had not actually invited him to dinner slightly less awkward.

Patricia answered the doorbell with her signature half-smile in place. Dalton knew she had spied them from the camera mounted discretely above the front stoop. “Adam. Glad you could make it. And who’s this friend you’ve brought with you?” 

Ah. Suspicion confirmed. It was nice of her to put that out in the open.

“Patricia, this is Amir al-Raisani. I believe you know his backstory.”

And then there was that, also out in the open. Amir was starting to wonder what was happening in the background that made them willing to volley these acknowledgements in front of him.

“Indeed.” Patricia stood back while gesturing them inside. “Won’t you please come in.”

They hung up their coats and Amir handed over the pie. “What’s this?” There was real excitement in Patricia’s voice, thickly coating disbelief. Amir sensed it and recalled Dalton’s warning as they arrived. “Dessert, ma’am.” A slight, yet noticeably awkward emphasis on formality. Best way to cover a lie you suspect will be recognized: a bid for distraction. 

“Please, call me Patricia.” She didn’t bother to add ‘for now,’ though Amir thought he saw something like it cross between her and Dalton. Amir was still trying to decide whether he wanted that ghost of a sentiment to take on a life of its own. 

Adam pressed a bottle of bourbon into Patricia’s other hand and murmured, “Thank you for having us.” He knew she could read all the layers to his appreciation - past, present, and presumptuous future.

The sardonic “of course” he got in return was fair enough, he figured. Maybe he could turn it honest by night’s end. Patricia was already forging ahead, literally moving across the room.

“Mele’s is in the kitchen - I don’t think we need the dining room, do we?”

Dalton held out an arm to gesture Amir deeper into the house. “The Deputy Director cannot cook.”

Trying a deferential angle, Amir rejoined slightly louder than Dalton. “I doubt she needs that particular skill, given her others.”

Patricia stopped just inside the kitchen and turned to face the boys.

“And what skills are those, Agent?”

The perfect picture of innocence, Amir replied, “Your interrogation skills. Your history of handling some of the most psychologically complex assets. You’re well known in the Agency, ma’am. Patricia.” That bashful self-correction at the end tacked a heart-warming end onto open admiration. Amir didn’t need to edit his response for authenticity. Everyone knew she was a legend for good reason.

The china on the kitchen table was artfully asymmetrical and no doubt expensively artisanal. Amir noted the carefully crafted casual ambiance, the expensive Italian comfort food, how Patricia asked Dalton about personal topics that were safe for an outsider such as himself. How Preach and McG and Jaz were; she seemed particularly keen on eliciting further discussion of this Jaz person, if the muscles around her eyes were at all reliable. Dalton seemed particularly relieved when she didn’t press. Interesting, potentially. If he knew these people. If it mattered.

“So Amir. Dalton tells me he’s trying to recruit you over to the DIA.”

“Ah, yes. He is.” 

“Think you’re good enough for an Omega team?”

“I’m…” Amir spoke slowly, stretching out the balance between demurring and boasting. “Yes. I’m as good as whatever Dalton has told you, I’m sure.”

If Amir fumbled a bit at her directness, Dalton couldn’t begrudge him. He could, however, wrest the tray of bacon-wrapped scallops away from their spot near Patricia with an exaggerated tug. Why did these dinners always end up with him acting more dramatically than the rest of the year spliced together? That very fact had always made Michael roar with laughter, after. He’d claimed it was something about a repressed adolescence and lack of sufficient mothering in his formative years. Which was probably true, even though that did nothing to excuse her behavior. All he’d wanted was a civil demonstration of Amir’s affable qualities. 

If anyone was supposed to rile him into betraying his raw talent for patriotic loyalty, it was supposed to be him. Dalton should have known better. 

Patricia still had a bland look on her face as she probed, “And I supposed none of that skill goes to waste undercover. How are you enjoying your current assignment?”

“Oh I can’t really talk about that. As I’m sure you know.”

“I’ve been read in.”

“Are you going to finish that lasagna?” If Dalton had to us clearing the table as a reminder to keep the peace, he would. Might withhold the booze if she didn’t want to play nice, too. 

“No, you can take it.” She was distracted waiting for Amir’s real answer. He should be glad she was that invested, Adam thought, as he took first her plate, then Amir’s over to the sink. He was still standing there, silently observing as Amir pieced together the words to pass this particular test.

“It’s important work. And I am - good at it. I didn’t want to brag, earlier, but Adam was correct in identifying my...particular talent.”

And now? Now Patricia’s face held that stubborn intensity, that look of finding all the puzzle pieces, searching out their knobs and crevices. “Hey Adam? Bring over that bourbon you brought, would you? And grab the pie.” He did as he was told, automatically dishing up slices to pass around. 

Amir accepted his with a nod of thanks in Dalton’s direction. “This pie...looks delicious. I bake, you know. And cook. When I can.”

Patricia poured two fingers for Dalton and slid the glass part way in his direction. She poured another for Amir, who accepted the glass, and without looking, downed a shot herself. She poured herself a second and clinked glasses with Amir. 

“Fascinating. How many times have you lied this evening?”

“How many lies did you catch? Ma’am.”

He didn’t miss a beat. Dalton shifted eye contact into Amir’s line of sight and then back out; Amir wondered what he would think if he told him that this wasn’t even close to the strangest job interview he’d ever had. 

Patricia couldn’t quite keep the laugh in check around her bite of pie. “Three. When you handed me the pie like it was yours, when you downplayed how badly you want out of isolation, and just now. You do not drink.”

“Well, all due respect, but I count zero lies. Misdirection is allowed, is it not?”

Bright laughter burst out and Patricia conceded. “It definitely made this evening more...entertaining...than I initially presumed. But not moving forward. Not in my house.”

“Duly noted.” Dalton caught the nod as Amir confirmed his respect and hoped it meant what he thought it did. It might. It just might.

()()()()()

Hugs from the Deputy Director were less about the social ritual and more about emotional connection. It was necessary for her particular brand of effectiveness, for the long game to work in her favor. Dalton had always suspected touch had been a cornerstone of her ability to serve as both mother and commander simultaneously. 

She held him now, against the deceptive scratch of a wool sweater as he prepared to head back out into the cold. The threshold of her home lay between them.

“Fine. But he’s getting a handler.” Adam hid his smirk in the return of her embrace. He wasn’t exactly surprised. It was less a capitulation and more an acknowledgement that his instincts held up under scrutiny. “That’s an excellent idea, ma’am.”

Patricia shushed him away with a smile, adding “You know better than to call me that at home.”

Dalton turned to face her on the walkway as he headed for his car. “Yes, ma’am.” He was glad she knew him well enough to see the glittering in his eyes and know it for what it was.

As he drove back to his condo, he started thinking about how to broach the assignment offer to Amir, what sort of guidance he’d want in finding a match as his handler. He refused to think about how to break the news to Jaz; he had won this fight in reassembling his team and he’d take his victory before setting out on the next campaign. 

()()()()()

Hannah Rivera had been on the job approximately 72 hours when she was called into the Deputy Director’s office. They’d already done the preliminary greetings, gone through the necessary connections to the team charged with orienting Hannah to this alternative life filled with bureaucratic red tape, mandatory psych support, and cataloguing details on paper instead of along the nerves in her body. She hadn’t even had enough time to really start sprinting with the sort of barely contained stride that only brought you forward if you were accustomed to running on instinct.

It unnerved her that Patricia Campbell looked just as effective behind her desk as she did with an earpiece and a keen eye managing multiple screens of intel and the pacing the hive had been built to accommodate. Perhaps that’s why she had been made Deputy Director. Perhaps Hannah should start taking note.

For now, she sat before being asked and made her face open up while she listened.

“I’d like to assign you as handler for one of our new field agents.”

Hunh. That was unexpected. Hannah hadn’t thought the DIA ran solo operatives.

“Dalton’s latest team member is a transfer from deep undercover. He needs it. So do you, I think.”


End file.
